Abdulla Aripov: Why do I love Uzbekistan?


Singing the motherland is a great happiness for every artist. In any system, it is a real heroism to glorify justice in the interests of the people. Not all creators have this honor. There is hardly a compatriot of ours who did not memorize the poems of the People's Poet of Uzbekistan, Hero of Uzbekistan Abdulla Aripov, and did not listen to his heart when his words turned to music.

Abdulla Oripov

Abdulla Aripov (March 21.03, 1941 - November 05.11.2016, 1990) was born in the village of Nekoz, Kasan district, Kashkadarya region. People's Poet of Uzbekistan (1998). Hero of Uzbekistan (1963). Graduated from Tashkent State University, Faculty of Journalism (1965). The first collection of poems was "Little Star" (1966). "My eyes are on the way" (1969), "Mother" (1971), "My soul", "Uzbekistan" (1974), "Memory", "Wind of my country" (1979), "Face to face", "Amazement" (1981), "Fortress of Salvation" (1983), "Harmony of the Years" (1992), "Book of Hajj", "Prayer" (1996), "Selection" (1999), "World" (2003) , "Poet's Heart" (4), 1978-volume "Selected Works" and other books of poetry. He also wrote epics ("The Road to Paradise", 1996; "Sahibkiran", 1998). The poetic drama "Sahibkiron" (1992) was staged in all major theaters of the republic. He translated Dante's "Divine Comedy" into Uzbek by AN Nekrasov, L. Ukrainka, T. Shevchenko, R. Khamzatov, K. Kuliev. He wrote the text of the National Anthem of the Republic of Uzbekistan (1983). Laureate of Hamza (1992) and Alisher Navoi (XNUMX) State Prizes of the Republic of Uzbekistan.


Why do I love Uzbekistan,
The dirt turned into a parrot in my eyes.
Why the homeland, the earth, the sky,
I call it holy, I call it lonely.

What in the world is really lonely?
Doesn't cotton grow in other hands?
Or is my sun the reason for my love?
After all, the whole of Asia is sunny.

Why do I love Uzbekistan,
I envy the gardens as a paradise.
Why do I cherish the soil,
I kiss you, your soil is priceless, Motherland!

In fact the fair nature of the soil,
The distribution is equal to the earth
Why is this soil, cried Furqat,
O land of Kashgar, are you poor?

Why do I love Uzbekistan?
Tell me the reason, they say.
Poetically, before beautiful words,
I bow to my mother people:

My people, if the judgment of history befalls you,
If it led to the permafrost,
If you had a place of snow,
Wouldn't I love those icebergs?

Homeland, Homeland, may, flourish,
The garden is in the eternal ice, but,
My country, you are only for your riches
If you have a loving child, never forgive!


My country, I finished a poem for you today,
I never found your match.
There are poets, the whole of their country -
The world is lonely.
They flew the poem too far,
The land of silver on the wings,
There is a country in the world, however
There is an unfinished epic:
Only my helpless pen is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

I do not walk in search of paradise,
If I can't find it, I won't smoke.
I do not sit and tell tales,
I don't think so.
Take it out of your bosom,
Teacher Olimjon,
The pride that Ghafur Ghulam felt
Epic to the world you can do.
My step in distant history is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

You have a really long past,
I can't see everything.
I do not praise Mazi, but
I think of your past for a moment.
The conquest of vast Asia,
A man came out, arrogant, arrogant,
Two and a half centuries of the world
The Great Jahangir sighed.
I mean, this day, it’s mine, mine.
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Speaking of grandparents,
There is a word at the beginning.
The science of the sky is the first to be born
In the vision tables.
The killer's hand was drunk,
The sun flew like a golden head.
Friends, not the stars in the sky,
He is the tears in Ulugbek's eyes.
Remaining on the ground, oh, my body,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Centuries before my eyes,
The flaw is beautiful.
Sarson past generations,
Place of birth without finding.
America says magic,
Columbus was still asleep,
For the first time the sea lit up,
The torch of Beruni's mind.
My pain in Columbus is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

This is a world that many warriors have seen,
Witness it all underground.
But, friends, among the people of poetry
Jahangiri will be rare, to be sure.
Five centuries, a palace of poetry
A poem with a trembling chain.
The place where Timur did not cut
Alisher took the pen.
The world is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

I talked about grandparents, though
Who is there that is more beloved than the bar:
The genius that bestows greatness,
My people, you are great.
You are the last bread
He held the enamel to his son.
You are yourself, children are glorious
Centuries have passed.
My mother, my people, my soul,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

A lot of time has passed over your head,
Passed Buddha, passed Zoroaster.
Every encounter is ignorant,
My mother, my people, grabbed you by the collar.
Genghis is full of anger
He wanted to lose the world.
Jaloliddin is the straw
You jumped over the Amudarya.
You are my straw,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Living in Toleing,
Sometimes you drank blood, sometimes wine.
My country is in turmoil,
The revolution has come to you.
From the battlefield in search of action
Fly to the skies,
From the red blood of the martyrs
It's dark blue nights.
My bloody head,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

But the sun never sets,
Moonlight that does not stay in the poplars,
A fair judge is right, impartial,
Great care of the oppressed.
Sword swipe tole morning
You have recognized yourself.
In the drop of blood of the boys
You got the name of Uzbekistan.
My name is Gulshanim,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Peace be upon this old world,
It's a time of peace.
It disturbed your peace too
A wild crowd called the Nazis.
My blood flowed in Dantsig,
When Sabir Rahim fell.
But, my country, my eternal enemy.
In the park called Uzbekistan.
You are my honor and glory,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

It was late fall, I saw you,
Someone was looking out the window.
It was you, my peasant country,
You lived naked, barefoot.
"It's raining outside,"
Dirt, bobojon, a little spread.
Deding: - Cotton, it's over,
It's freezing.
You're gone, my life is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

You will probably go far,
In Fergana, you are probably a Balkar.
Maybe on a pale mountain,
As a shepherd, you light a fire.
Maybe the teacher is as full as Oybek
You are going to write a new epic.
Maybe it's Habib Abdullah,
Mining in the desert.
The soil is dice, my ore is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Well, my country, even if you visit the world,
Even if you put it in space, step by step,
Never forget yourself
Remember, my motherland.
Like your son, I am this time
I watched your past.
I saw your luck
Beyond the horizons of independence.
Iqboli hur, shox-shanim manim.
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Never fail, my country,
Zavol doesn't know at this age.
Be victorious, be victorious, my lord,
Break up a friend, with your brother.
In a series of centuries
Your home will last forever.
In the family of a great man
Eternally bright forehead is yours.
My eternal home is mine,
Uzbekistan is my homeland.

Interview with teacher Abdulla Aripov

Adiba Umirova spoke

Singing the motherland is a great happiness for every artist. In any system, it is a real heroism to glorify justice in the interests of the people. Not all creators have this honor.

There is not a single compatriot of ours who did not memorize the poems of the People's Poet of Uzbekistan, Hero of Uzbekistan Abdulla Aripov, and did not listen to his heart when his words turned to music.

Our conversation with the chairman of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan, our beloved poet Abdulla aka also spoke about the significance of these great days in the life of our people, the great value of freedom on the eve of the greatest and dearest holiday of our country - independence.

- Abdulla aka, a true poet always has a deeper understanding of the events that will take place ahead of time than others and reacts in a timely manner. Many years ago you wrote your poem "Why I love Uzbekistan". Perhaps it was born out of a sense of the desire of our people to reach today’s liberated days?

- I think the logic determines the long-term future, the bright independence of our people, our Motherland. In fact, the trampling of justice is a violation of logic. Logically, Uzbekistan was right to have its own freedom. There are such strange feelings in human genetics that these feelings can also be put on a coherent desire and hope. In the Soviet system, the desire in our hearts was whole. It was our desire to see our homeland free. It may have taken a sharp optimism to think about it at the time, but in any case there was hope in our hearts, a shawl in our actions. The poem "Why I love Uzbekistan" that you mentioned above was written 35 years ago. At that time, Uzbekistan was "respected" only for cotton and gold. However, that cotton is both mine and gold. But why do I love Uzbekistan! Even if you lived on the glaciers, my people, I would have given my life for you even if I was like a pigeon or a ruby.

It is sad to talk about that system that sacrificed the great sons of our people, many scholars. It is a duty to remember the martyrs on this day when the flames of our independent homeland are flying all over the world.

It is known from history that the kingdom founded by our ancestor Sahibkiran was stable and powerful, first of all, because it was based on the noble policy of self-sacrifice for the freedom of the Motherland, ensuring the stability of our people. Pay attention to the will of our great ancestor, "It is your duty to preserve the great career and happiness of the nation, to cure its ailments."

Doesn't this call impose an incomparable responsibility on any person who knows and understands himself, on the children of this country?

In this sense, I think that the ideas of a perfect man, a free and prosperous Motherland, Uzbekistan - a great state of the future, will express our interests and will be a wing for us in our noble aspirations.

- But it was not easy for many artists who honored the country with the dream of independence in the former Soviet Union. In particular, how did you feel when discussing your poem “To my mother tongue”?

- In the past, artists were governed by the orders of the regime. It has never been easy for those who have not fallen into the mold.

The history of the poem "To my mother tongue" (written in 1965) is very long. Did I dream that this eight-line poem would fall on my head as a rebuke?

When the poem came out, I was left with a world of questions: "Do you still have a native language?" In any nation, there are, of course, fair and great figures. One of them was the great poet of the Russian people Alexander Tvardovsky. When this man heard the controversy surrounding three or four of my poems at that time, and the world-famous teachers intervened, the Russian translation of these poems was published in Novy Mir magazine. I have to say one thing with great gratitude. Those three or four poems, such as "Mother Tongue", "The Stork at the Top of the Minaret", and "The Goldfish", were not published in the central editions with the help of Alexander Tvardovsky and Kaysin Kuliev. I can't even imagine right now where the wheel will turn. Ehh, let's just say I've seen better.

- What is the difference between your previous poems and your current poems?

- Now the boundaries of our work, both in terms of subject matter and interpretation, have disappeared. In particular, a wide path was opened to psychological analysis. During these glorious years, I wrote poems and published collections about independence and pilgrimages. It is a unique gift of independence.

- What problems do you think intellectuals, poets and writers have to raise in order to create works about independence, which is the age-old dream of our people - freedom?

- The human problem has always been relevant. It has not lost its dignity even during independence. One of the great questions facing literature is who is the modern hero and what qualities does he have? How do the representatives of the neighboring fraternal literature living in the same socio-political system view this issue? In this sense, the magnitude of a talent is never determined by the number of its people. A great nation can be extremely untalented and a relatively small nation can have great writers. In this regard, we can speak about the influence of the works of Rasul Khamzatov and Chingiz Aitmatov on the literature of other nations.

- As the chairman of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan, are you satisfied with the works of the poet and our writers presented to the association?

- For some reason, the research has been going on for a long time… Today, there are poets and writers who are serious about their work. Such people are often given to spiritual nurturing and live with the concern of the title anniversaries. These are, of course, transient travelers in the world of literature.

- Can you tell us about the unforgettable literary and eternal gurungs in your life with great artists?

- It was an extraordinary pleasure for young people like me to meet and communicate with such great people as Oybek in the 60's. After all, we have read the works of those classic writers in the dorilfun auditorium, starting from the school desk. From our student days, in the streets, in the Writers' Union, in public gatherings, when we saw our great writers from afar, we would whisper to each other, "Ghafur Ghulam, Oybek, Abdulla Qahhor." When we got back to the dorm, we bragged to the rest. Look, years have passed…

I met Oybek twice in that man's house. Both times I went to the teacher’s house because of their absence. For the first time, I accompanied the late Rustam Kamilov, one of the editors of Oybek's novels. In those years, I worked at the Ghafur Ghulam Publishing House of Literature and Art. I remember one day in the publishing house, Rustam aka, sweating, said, "Oybek aka is missing you." It is not hard to imagine how much this visit affected the young poet, whose three or four things had just been published, and who still did not believe in his pen.

… I will never forget those moments when I sat in front of the teacher around a small table against the wall in the hall at the entrance to the house. When Rustam aka introduced me, the teacher repeated my name with a difficult pronunciation. Then, with the participation of Zarifa-opa, they discussed some corrections related to the reprint of the novel "Navoi". I, on the other hand, could not understand why I suddenly appeared in this majestic place.

Meanwhile, Zarifa-opa said in a good mood that "Oybek is interested in the younger generation of our literature, some of us read our exercises, and for this reason he lost me." The teacher, with extreme restraint, confirmed the sister's words with sincerity and childish innocence, which is very rare in most celebrities. The brief conversation that day was about the labor of literary creation. I remember Zarifa-opa saying, “Oybek, at your age, knew nothing but reading books. He read Navoi, Pushkin, Goethe, Dante a lot. I rarely went to the movies. ”I was sweating profusely. Although I didn't like going to the movies, I was advised not to waste your time and youth. Oybek domla confirmed this advice with great emphasis. I was under the influence of that conversation for a very long time afterwards…

When I talk about the memories I had with Oybek domla, Abdulla Qahhor, it becomes a great work. They are very much…

- Several of your books have been translated into various foreign languages ​​of the world. In general, we would like to know your opinion about today's translation?

- I think that a translator should dedicate himself completely to translation. However, the level of the author and the translator must be close. Then the freedom of the interpreter, in my opinion, must be strictly limited. I am in favor of such freedom that the translated work will be immediately recognizable to anyone who reads it in its original form. That is the limit of freedom. Anything that goes beyond this limit of freedom can happen - the average work, and at best it can be a disgrace. We have a saying, "Everything in the pot goes into the bucket." It's bad if the interpreter has something "not in the pot." But not being able to get everything out of the pot is a thousand times worse. If the weight, tone and style are not preserved in the translation, the work completely loses its national image. Every artist, of course, wants his work to be translated into another language. They say a world of hope. But honestly, not all writers deserve it either.

There is a circle of "Young translators" under the Writers' Union. We must no longer be indifferent to the publication of empty, short-lived translations of our works. It is very important to train young and talented translators, to seriously consider expanding their ranks.

- In your poems you have often condemned jealousy and laziness. When you yourself suffer from such defects? ..

- Unfortunately, such defects are not related to the political system or ideology. They can be said to be human in general. Unfortunately, this condition is more pronounced in spiritually poor individuals. I once said:

They say: the dog barks, the caravan passes,
Don't let the pain burn you.
But a lifelong painful giryon,
The caravan that passes between the dogs.

I wrote. Greed, greed, dishonesty, hypocrisy, cruelty, betrayal, both in the time of Navoi and in the time of Dante.

- Great artists are not always satisfied with their products. Have you ever been dissatisfied with yourself and your work?

"I haven't had time to put all my mental anguish on paper yet." There are more unwritten poems than my written ones.

- Can you share your thoughts on youth poetry? ..

- Of course, today's young artists are very literate. Aware of the advanced literature laboratory. Only when they write should there be more nationalism. I wish the representatives of our young literature to write immortal works in the national spirit.

- What are your feelings on the golden stairs of independence?

- This year the book of the Head of State "High spirituality is an invincible force" has been published. It says that the value, value, power of spirituality is symbolic. After all, this is the highest goal and duty of our creative people - to serve spirituality.

The feeling of pride is a blessed feeling that lifts the nation's chest like a mountain, and raises a high mood, such as pride in its land and free sky. Thanks to independence, commemorative events have been held to give wings to the spirit and dreams of our people. Several generations, who had been waiting for such holidays to take place in our country, did not reach these days and left with a wish. Now we should celebrate their spirit, honor our free country, hold great ceremonies and celebrations, emphasizing the value of the Motherland and freedom in the hearts of young people.

Independence Day has become a sacred holiday of our people. We have a duty to celebrate it as a true celebration of national pride. Because this is our holy and great holiday!

As the great German poet Johannes Becher once said, "In order for one's thoughts not to die, one must think and sharpen one's thinking every day, all the time." This is truly exemplary. That is why we have to live with the thoughts of the time in order to give a fair, objective, reasonable opinion about the time in which we live. In this sense, it is natural that every plate or conversation, reminiscent of the freedom and independence of our Motherland, moves our spirit, our intellectual world.

Source: Hürriyet newspaper (2008).

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